


of hope and legacy

by fieryrondo



Series: the herald of spring [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 2017 Four Continents Figure Skating Championships, Gen, Vignette, figure skating, quad revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryrondo/pseuds/fieryrondo
Summary: "Do you regret it, choosing to skate?""I have many regrets, but never about skating."Following a less than ideal short program at Four Continents, Yuzuru Hanyu receives some words of wisdom from an unexpected source.(Or, Yuzuru Hanyu and Patrick Chan commiserate over their subpar short programs, embrace the quintessential Korean food experience and bond over fried chicken and soju).





	

**Author's Note:**

> The 4C’s (“Congratulate, Commiserate, Complain & Cry”) have been in strong force at Four Continents this weekend. With heapings of anxiety, fear, anger and denial from Yuzuru fans on tumblr and Golden Skate, I've had to force myself to take a step back and distance myself from the emotional turmoil. To be honest, I'm still trying to process my feelings about the men’s short program.
> 
> Behold this spew of word vomit to console a heart that’s still grieving over that popped quad-sal, triple-toe combo during Yuzuru’s short program at Four Continents.

To say that he was frustrated was a huge understatement.

 

Yuzuru Hanyu takes a deep breath. Holds it for five seconds. Exhales slowly. Glides a finger down the beads of his favorite bracelet, as if trying to draw a hidden power from the cool, smooth stones of alternating black and white. Runs a hand through his gel-styled hair, tucks a stray lock behind his ear, only to leave it alone when it stubbornly pops out again. There are no cameramen, no reporters, no fans. No more eyes fixed upon him and his performance. Brian had gone to debrief with the other coaches at a meeting after dinner. Yuzuru's mother had retired for the night--it has been a trying day for them all.

 

It’s late. Yuzuru knows he should go to bed so he can wake up in time for early morning practice tomorrow. But Yuzuru isn’t ready to go to bed yet. Not yet. After years of competition, Yuzuru’s learned to pay attention to his body’s needs, to home in on and navigate the historical map of healed injuries and remnants of scars, the phantom echo of past strained muscles, the signs of fatigue. He knows his body even better than Kikuchi-san, his own trainer, though admittedly this has only been a somewhat recent development this season.

 

Yuzuru slips on his jacket and running shoes. With one last look at himself in the full-length mirror, Yuzuru quietly pads out of the hotel room, closing the door shut behind him.

  
Yuzuru decides to go for a run.

 

* * *

On his way to the elevator, Yuzuru bumps into Patrick Chan. Yuzuru's not in a hurry but when he rounds the corner, he almost feels like he's completely dissociated from his body, alienated from the sensations of touch. To be fair, the Canadian skater seems just as distracted and only notices Yuzuru when Yuzuru swiftly moves out of the way to avoid collision.

 

"Hey." Patrick Chan, with a good mix of surprise and wariness, looks as uncomfortable as hell to see Yuzuru. Despite being in the same warm-up groups during competition, they rarely talk. Which is par for the course. The only skater Yuzuru feels comfortable talking to during competition outside of Team Japan is Javi, and even then, the strange, tension-rife air of competition draws up a foreign, temporary wall between them, their camaraderie sharpening into rivalry.

 

"Hello." Yuzuru holds the elevator door open for Patrick, who mumbles a quiet thanks as he joins Yuzuru. They say nothing more to each other during the elevator ride. Yuzuru only gazes steadily at the elevator panel as he watches the button lights flash downwards. Patrick checks his phone. When the elevator doors open and the two exit out into the lobby, Patrick speaks again, this time more clearly.

 

"You wanna get something to eat?"

 

"Sorry?" Yuzuru cocks his head and leans forward uncertainly, a habit picked up from years of tripping over English words and expressions in the sea of flashing cameras, as if decreasing the physical distance between himself and the speaker could somehow improve his understanding of the words.

 

Patrick, perhaps encouraged by the Japanese skater's hesitation, nods more enthusiastically.

 

"I know a great place to grab a bite--just right around the corner from the hotel. It's not far...unless you've got other plans?"

 

Yuzuru bites his lip and checks his phone. He hovers over the precipice, pondering this decision. Patrick waits, albeit a little impatiently.

 

"Okay." Yuzuru takes the leap.

 

* * *

 

The "great place" Patrick is referring to is a hole-in-the-wall that serves late night  _dakgangjeong_ and  _soju._ Yuzuru only picks at the sweet, crispy chicken pieces on his plate; he's careful not to eat anything strange during competition, but watches Patrick dig in the appetizer with gusto and polish off a glass of  _soju_ with a practiced relish that Yuzuru almost envies. Aside from the occasional chocolate or sweet, Yuzuru's never been particularly interested in food.

 

The silence between them is awkward, but at the same time, not entirely uncomfortable. Maybe it's the warm ambience of the restaurant, which evokes fond memories of eating _kaarage_ in his childhoold; maybe it's the carefree way Patrick guzzles down the meat and drink like a man who's appreciative of what might be his last but utterly satisfying meal. Or maybe it's the fact that the years of competing against each other, of fighting for the top at Grand Prix Finals, Four Continents, Worlds, and the Olympics has somehow forged a bond, however reluctant, that links them together, the bond that only rivals can share.

 

Patrick interrupts Yuzuru's thoughts by offering him some _soju_. Yuzuru politely declines.

 

"For health, I don't drink."

 

Patrick scrutinizes Yuzuru, who tenses and steels himself, all too familiar with the rival's gaze that searches for weakness. The Canadian nods.

 

"I don't, either. Not usually during competitions." Patrick sets the bottle down but then goes ahead and pours himself another glass.

 

Yuzuru presses his lips together; he doesn't say anything but his silence speaks enough of his disapproval.

 

Patrick finishes off his second glass with a sigh.

 

"Some competition this year."

 

Ah. The crux of the matter. Yuzuru plays with his chopsticks, twirling them restlessly between his fingers.

 

"Yes."

 

"Did you...have fun? Skating today?"

 

The fingers still, chopsticks frozen in midair like marionettes whose strings have been cut. It's an interesting question. And not one that was usually asked during interviews. Yuzuru still remembers the freezing chill of terror that crept into his veins, his confusion over the rotations of his quad loop, his missed quad sal-triple toe combination during the warm-up. For once, Yuzuru found himself chasing after the music rather than becoming one with it, an utterly disorienting experience.

 

"No," Yuzuru settles for an honest answer. "Not today."

 

"You don't mince words, do you?" Patrick asks, rather keenly but withdraws with another sigh. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

 

A distant part of Yuzuru wonders where the Canadian skater's going with this. Yuzuru does not agree with many things that the Canadian skater says, but it is not Yuzuru's place to pass judgment. Though Yuzuru does not know if he would ever call Toronto home, he has lived there long enough to understand that Canadians operated under an entirely set of rules and societal rituals, a culture that was more chaotic and free, and had less regard for social hierarchies and manners of address. The sentiment of freedom is a fine one, Yuzuru thinks, but has its drawbacks. Yuzuru has had to learn to control his emotions, to subsume the pleasing and ugly parts of his feelings and transmute them into expressions of beauty in his skating. Patrick, on the other hand, wears his heart on a sleeve, the high points fused into his edgework, the low points into his falls on his jumps. Looking at the Patrick before him, Yuzuru realizes he, too, feels a little old.

 

"We do better in the free," Yuzuru offers. Patrick only looks wistful.

 

"Easier said than done." Another glass poured but Patrick abstains from drinking this glass. "You know my free skate?"

 

Yuzuru remembers vaguely that the Canadian skater's free skate program music had been composed by a friend, a fellow Canadian figure skater. Like his own, it's quiet piano music: soft, subtle and understated. He shrugs a little.

 

"Well, it's called 'A Journey'." If Patrick is offended by Yuzuru's ignorance or lack of interest in his free skate program, he lets it go all too easily, eager to talk about his program. "It's real special to me, you know? Because it's about me, it's  _my_ journey."

 

Yuzuru's about to nod his head in polite interest, when Patrick's next words catch him off guard.

 

"Just like your  _'_ Hope & Legacy' is about _your_ life and _your_ skating."

 

Yuzuru snaps his head back up, with piercing, almost suspicious eyes. Patrick chuckles, almost sheepishly.

 

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess...you aren't exactly subtle with your programs." Patrick fiddles with the glass, swirling the clear alcohol inside. "I just thought it was kind of neat?  I mean, it's all quads, quads, quads, but I'm glad we're trying to do something different. To think we're doing something similar with our programs. To leave behind our own skating legacies."

 

Legacy is a word that Yuzuru has yet to connect with. He understands what it means, but has yet to really feel it resonate in his soul. Yuzuru suspects this is the real reason why he's struggled with the free skate program so far. Trying to put all of his feelings of his skating years into one program, while pushing the technical content to compete on the same level with the younger skaters, was no mean feat, as Brian had repeatedly emphasized over and over. But there is something Yuzuru feels is worth chasing, something more beautiful than gold medals, more powerful than all of the titles in the world. To skate a program that will leave a lasting impression in the hearts of the audience, a program that is indisputably perfect beyond all doubt, a program he can feel _satisfied_ and _free_ with, this is the hope that Yuzuru pursues with a desperation of a man who feels he is running out of time. A year may be three hundred and sixty five days but those days scatter away in the turn of the seasons all too quickly.

 

“Remember Sochi?” Yuzuru dares to ask.

 

“Every day of my life,” Patrick answers, with a grimace. Yuzuru believes him; he remembers it too.

 

“Is this Sochi?”

 

A long pause. “I don’t think so, no."

 

“That’s good, right?”

  
  
A bark of laughter slips out of the Canadian skater’s mouth before he can stop himself. It feels good and familiar, rocks the belly with warmth. Yuzuru's not quite sure why, but he feels it's the first time he's seen Patrick genuinely happy.

 

"You know, you're absolutely right," Patrick agrees, breaking out into a smile. It takes Yuzuru a moment but he recognizes that smile. It's the same smile Patrick wore during the skate of his life at Trophee Eric Bompard in 2013. At the time, Yuzuru was too frustrated over his consecutive loss that season to pay much attention. Yuzuru decides it is a good expression for the Canadian skater. 

 

When they walk back to the hotel, Yuzuru thanking Patrick profusely for his invitation, Patrick has one final question for Yuzuru.

 

"Do you regret it, choosing to skate?" This time, the Canadian skater sounds genuinely curious.

 

Yuzuru pauses. Reflects. The panic of the doubled salchow rises to the surface of his mind, but Yuzuru wills himself to look beyond that. He remembers the cleanly executed quad loop, the result of half a season's work, remembers Brian's warm words of encouragement, that a skater is more than a single performance, more than a single competition, more than a single season. A skater's legacy is the accumulation of the challenges faced, battles won, defeats endured, courage and pure nerve tested over their entire career. Yuzuru _does_ see the end in sight, a day when he would have to put away his skates to pursue other things in life, things that he has put on hold, things that he wants to get involved in, but to his relief, there are still many more skates that await him, new programs to challenge, new jumps and steps to learn and master. Yuzuru is not done yet. Far from it. For Yuzuru's hope  _is_ his legacy, his legacy  _his_ hope, and every skate he has skated so far along with every skate to come were all part of the marvelous journey he was privileged to walk on, with the support of the people he cherished.

 

"I have many regrets, but never about skating."

 

Feeling light and free as air as his thoughts turn back to the ice he loves, Yuzuru smiles.


End file.
